


The Dust Filled Cabin

by ShepardKreme



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26643715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShepardKreme/pseuds/ShepardKreme
Collections: The Tales of the Valley





	The Dust Filled Cabin

Ash fell from the stared sky along with the snowflakes, settling upon the branches of the black pines. Smoke rose like Wil o' Wisps from a stone chimney, their hot fangs eating up the snow that dared to stray too close. The fire's light shone through the windows of the cabin, made of thick, dark trunks, its roof held up by the same wood as the trees around it. The wind shook the silver needles, knocking the snow from the branches. The door is heavy but pushes open with ease, creaking a protest for being woken at such a late hour. The warmth licking at his face in greeting, made him sigh in relief. The snow melted and dripped from his fur and scales, the droplets turning the wooden floor dark under him. Shaking his feathered wings to lose the last of the cold that clung to them, he turned the small cabin over with his eyes.  
  
  
The cabin used to be so empty, just a few things here or there, maybe a table and a chair to sit but nothing more. Now it was full of things from all over The Valley, selfs decorated with knick nacks, cases filled with dishes and stone spheres, and paintings of faraway places lined the walls. Rugs made of pure cotton and bright colored furs were soft under his scaled feet, and chairs made with beautiful wood and rich colored silks sat with a table carved from a whole tree stump inlaid with metal leaflets of sliver. He stepped over to a half-empty case within the unused kitchen and carefully gripped the small, crystalline knob with three fingers. The case door popped open and swang to the side with a high squeak, wafting the scent of alder. He sat a small bowl made of ebony glass next to a matching plate set and popped the case door back into place.   
  
As he stared at the cabin and all within it an ache made its way through him, why is he bothering to bring these things here? What was the point, no one but him would remember this place? No one would remember the soft snowflakes melting against the windows, nor the knick nacks or sentiments that lined the walls and floors. But it felt like home, a place he could feel all he needed to feel. Laying curled up on the fur rugs, feeling the warm fire standing guard in the hearth. He could stay here for days, weeks, months, and he did. He laid on that fur rug and soaked in the warmth of that guardian fire. Sleeping away time that meant nothing to him here, in this black pinewood cabin.  
  
He slept so soundly he didn't even hear the soft crunching of snow outside or the heavy door creek open, nor did he hear the soft, bare feet step across the wooden floor. The soft cloth puddling around those bare feet as a soft, pale hand ran over the top of his head to his horns, up his ear folded behind them, and over his mane of cream white. He could not make out the whispers that cut through his dreams and did not see the small, sad smile that could break his soul. But he did smell the sweet scent of white peaches when he woke that morning and he saw the snow that was tracked into the cabin.   
  
Without a word, he placed more wood into the hearth and fixed the fur rug he slept upon. He stepped out of the cabin, pulling the heavy door shut with a dull thud, and walked back into the black pines as ash and snow landed together on branches of silver needles. 


End file.
